Deadly Duty Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Read online

  “No problem, Crane. I just wish it was under better circumstances. Nasty business this.”

  “Indeed, sir, a view that many of us share. But it’s my unfortunate duty to investigate it.”

  “Investigate?” queried the Colonel, the bushy eyebrows that dominated his face arching. “Sorry, but what’s to investigate? I was led to believe by the Adjutant that it was a domestic argument that got out of hand. A young soldier murdered his family and then killed himself, unable to face the consequence of his actions.”

  “Maybe, sir,” said Crane. “But even if that turns out to be correct, I want to find out why.”

  Rising, the Colonel resumed his position gazing out over the parade ground. Without turning round he said, “Then investigate his private life. Find out what his wife had been up to.”

  “Of course, sir …but…” Crane subconsciously scratched at his beard.

  “Spit it out, man, can’t abide a ditherer,” called Colonel Pearson, raising himself to his full height and once more turning to look at Crane.

  “I also need to investigate what happened during his tour in Afghanistan.” Expanding on his thinking, Crane continued, “Could any incident in particular have affected Solomon badly? What was his mental state whilst he was in Afghanistan? What was his mental state when he returned? Did he ask for counselling? Did he-”

  “Alright, alright, I get the picture.” Returning to sit at his desk the Colonel leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest. “I suppose you want permission to interview my men, never mind the disruption you’ll cause and the bad feeling you’ll spread throughout the regiment.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I really feel it’s necessary.”

  “Why? What have you found?” Colonel Pearson narrowed his eyes, his forest of grey splattered eyebrows all but obscuring the lids.

  “I’d rather not say at this stage, sir.” Crane folded his arms.

  After a short silence Colonel Pearson barked, “Very well. See the Adjutant. Keep me posted through Captain Edwards.”

  Rising to his feet before the Colonel changed his mind, Crane replied with an equally curt, “Sir,” and a nod of his head.

  ***

  On one of the newer housing estates on the garrison, Crane found Newton Avenue. Aldershot Garrison boasted a range of accommodation for its soldiers and their families. The newer barracks incorporated brand new single men’s quarters, whilst houses for officers and other ranks, some old and some new, sprawled across the garrison, like clutches of Lego land buildings, hugging each barracks.

  As Crane drove through the estate, he saw the comings and goings of a suburban street. Mothers with babies resplendent in their smart new strollers; small children playing on the swings, under the watchful eye of a parent or child minder; wives staggering under the weight of their shopping bags as they emerged from a local store. Crane was acutely aware of such normal, everyday scenes, juxtaposed with the horrific murder of a child.

  Drawing up opposite number 13 Crane stopped the car, turned off the engine and looked at the outside of the house. It was one of a number of newer terraced houses, each with their own driveway and integral garage. They looked quite small and had just two bedrooms. But still, the sort of house that anyone in ‘Civvy Street’ would be proud to live in with their family. Crane supposed that the other members of his team attached to the investigation would still be in the house and went to join them.

  Inside the living room he found Staff Sergeant Billy Williams looking through a desk, which at first glance seemed to contain household bills and other such correspondence. Raising his head from the paperwork, Billy made to stand, but Crane waved him back down.

  “Anything interesting, Billy?”

  “No, sir, just the normal stuff everyone has. Lance Corporal Crooks had a laptop, which the techies have taken away to look at. Better than me trying and messing up, eh, sir?” he finished with a grin. His youthful face had an openness that was appealing, with a shock of blond hair that constantly fell into his eyes.

  Billy was not technically minded and had messed up on more than one occasion, so now Crane kept him away from computers that may hold potential evidence. Strange for a young man not to be good at that sort of stuff, but Billy was more the physical type, forever in the gym, playing football or out with the lads. Crane knew he wouldn’t find him holed up in a room with a PlayStation or computer. Fresh air and exercise were his mantras and he had a well-muscled, fit body to show for it.

  “Okay. What about scene of crime?” nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. Normally SIB investigators collected their own forensic evidence, but as this was such a large crime scene Crane had called in a specialist.

  “All finished, sir. Sergeant Smith said he’ll be ready to report tomorrow morning at 09:00 hours. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

  “Yes, fine. We’re not up against time on this one.”

  “No, sir,” the younger man agreed. “Major Martin said he’ll be ready with the post mortem results by then as well. DI Anderson agreed to the meeting being held here on the garrison and will be in attendance.”

  “Fair enough. Now, what about friends, relatives, neighbours? Who’s handling the interviews?”

  “Kim is. She’s gone back to the office to write up her reports. She said to let you know that she’ll meet you there.”

  “Good choice, Billy,” Crane said. “A bit sexist I know, but people have enough trouble talking to the Branch as it is. Maybe the wives will open up to Sergeant Weston.” Turning to leave Crane instructed, “Finish up here, then chase the techies and while you’re waiting fully investigate Lance Corporal Crooks’ finances. I need to know if he had money problems.”

  “Sir,” Billy acknowledged, pushing his hair out of his eyes and going back to the paperwork.

  Leaving the room, Crane avoided the kitchen and went upstairs. There were three doors. The first one Crane chose revealed the child’s room. It remained frozen in time. The bed was unmade and books tumbled across the small desk in the corner. Aeroplanes were strung from the ceiling, still and silent in the dead air and pictures of Aldershot football team adorned the walls. Crane picked up a small photo frame from next to the bed. A picture of the boy, grinning for the camera, with his arms around his father’s neck. Crane paused and closed his eyes for a moment, reflecting on the utter waste of a young innocent life, before replacing the photograph and backing out of the room.

  In the hall, Crane pushed open the second door revealing a neat bathroom and then turned to the final room. The master bedroom, if you could call it that, was at the front of the house, over the garage. A small double containing a bed, bedside cabinets, double wardrobe and small dressing table. The few pieces of cheap pine furniture seemed to dominate the room and Crane immediately found it claustrophobic.

  Moving to one side of the bed, he opened the drawer to the bedside cabinet, finding women’s magazines and a couple of paperback books. Going around the bed to the other side, he found a drawer filled with pamphlets. Fishing them out, Crane laid them on the bed.

  The religious tracts seemed to be the kind of thing Mormons or Seventh Day Adventists pushed through doors, or handed out to anyone willing to take them. Just about to dismiss them, Crane found one from a local church. ‘Jesus is King!’ hailed the banner headline and skimming the text Crane found an invitation to those who were feeling lost to go along and be saved. Had Solomon gone to the church and if so, what did he feel he needed saving from? Pondering these questions, Crane gathered up the pamphlets, put them in his pocket, ran down the stairs and left the house.

  Chapter Four

  Chewing on a sandwich that tasted of the plastic wrapping it had come in; Crane sat at his desk looking at the pamphlets from Solomon’s house. Spread before him the innocuous pieces of paper seemed to offer no threat, merely salvation. He pushed them away, as he couldn’t make any sense of them, dumped his half eaten BLT in the bin and went through to the main office.


  “Sergeant Weston,” he called. “I was told you’d have a report on the interviews with Lance Corporal Crooks’ neighbours ready after lunch.”

  “That’s right, sir,” confirmed Kim, rising from behind her desk in a corner of the room.

  “Well, as it’s after my lunch, my office. Now!” Turning away, Crane returned to his office and sat watching the newly promoted young Sergeant.

  Kim Weston was an asset to the team. A fact that he would share with her in due course, he decided. She was collating the paperwork strewn across her desk, to carry into Crane’s office but he knew that once she settled herself, her report would be clear and concise. Her work reflected her appearance, or was it the other way round? Smart, tidy and organised described them both. Her blond hair was scraped into a tight bun and her uniform pristine. In fact, she was so focused that sometimes Crane wondered if she ever relaxed, even when off duty.

  “So,” he said once Kim was settled in the chair opposite him. “What have you got for me?”

  Kim opened her ever present notebook. “Well, sir, first I interviewed the immediate neighbours. It seemed the family were well liked. No history of marital problems, so as a result everyone was pretty stunned.”

  “Any gossip about the wife?” asked Crane, leaning back in his chair, pursuing the line of enquiry instructed by Colonel Pearson.

  “What sort of gossip? Are you suggesting this could have been her fault, sir?”

  “Come on, Kim, you know the score. Solomon had been away for six months. Did she get lonely? Turn to someone else to keep her warm at night? Maybe Solomon found out and lost it?”

  “There’s no evidence to suggest that, sir,” said Kim bristling. Crane could hear the lining of her skirt crackling. “If there was, I would have found it.”

  “Look, there’s no place for sensitivities here, Kim. We’re dealing with murder and then suicide. Something triggered it. It’s our job to find out what. Go back and interview the neighbours again. This time I want facts not feelings. And don’t forget to interview Mrs Crooks’ family. I want reports on interviews from them as well.”

  “Sir.” Kim snapped her pad closed.

  “Have everything ready for a full briefing at 09:00 hours tomorrow. Well off you go then,” barked Crane at the still seated Kim.

  “Sorry, sir, just one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been getting press calls. Specifically, from Diane Chambers of the Aldershot Mail.”

  “Refer her to the press office and the Aldershot police.”

  “I’ve tried that, sir, but she won’t go away.”

  “Then make her, Sergeant. The Branch doesn’t talk to the press. Now off you go.”

  With his team fully occupied, Crane left the office and went looking for the army chaplain for Aldershot Garrison.

  ***

  Padre Francis Symonds was the Senior Chaplain of the Royal Garrison Church, he was assisted by two other chaplains and between them they covered the large garrison and surrounding barracks. Crane found him in the Officers’ Mess, just finishing lunch and they met in an empty conference room. Padre Symonds had the type of soft rounded features that meant it was hard to accurately guess his age. Crane put him in his mid-thirties. He was dressed casually, wearing uniform trousers and a black clerical shirt with a dog collar. Simply furnished, the room had a circular meeting table and six chairs and Crane and the Padre took seats opposite each other.

  Crane explained that there had been a murder/suicide on the garrison, perpetrated by Lance Corporal Crooks and that Crane was in charge of the investigation. At first the Chaplain was reluctant to comment on the matter. As far as the he could remember, no one of Crooks’ name or description had ever approached him for help or advice. However, Crane pressed the mild mannered, courteous Chaplain, wanting to know about local churches in the Aldershot area.

  “Well, of course, a range, as you would expect,” was the non-committal answer.

  “Could you be more specific, sir?”

  “Oh, I suppose, Church of England, Roman Catholic, Baptist, Methodist…”

  “Do any of them actively recruit in the area?”

  “Actively recruit?” Symonds stared at Crane as though he was some sort of simpleton. “Well, of course, we all actively recruit in our own way.”

  “Yes, but are any of them more persistent than others?”

  “More persistent? Sergeant Major I really don’t grasp what you’re trying to imply. I rather think you’re the one that’s being persistent.”

  Exasperated, Crane fished the pamphlets from the Church of Jesus is King out of his pocket. Realising he would have to be rather more direct, Crane pushed the papers across the table towards the Chaplain.

  “I found these pamphlets in Lance Corporal Crooks’ bedroom,” he explained and then leant back in his chair. “I wondered what you knew about this church and their methods.”

  “Ahhh…” said the Chaplain after looking at the papers for a few moments and then adopting a reflective position with his chin resting on clasped hands.

  “Ahhh, sir?”

  “Yes, well, this is a little delicate.”

  “Let me spell this out for you, Padre. There is nothing delicate about a murder and suicide by one of our lads. Not the crime and not the investigation that follows. I need answers and I need them now. So let’s forget sensibilities and diplomacy and tell me about this church.”

  “Really, Sergeant Major, there’s no need for that kind of attitude,” rebuked the Padre, standing and folding his arms.

  “Really, Padre, there is.” Crane refused to be bullied, even by a superior officer. “I’ve been tasked by Colonel Pearson to find out what happened to one of his boys and I intend to follow orders. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that you were unwilling to assist in that investigation.”

  After a moment’s reflection, the Padre sat down again and began to talk.

  “If I may be frank.”

  Resisting a more sarcastic reply, Crane inclined his head and said, “Please do, Padre.”

  “The Church of Jesus is King in Aldershot had concerned me a little I must admit. Their methods are, well, a trifle over enthusiastic, when it comes to persuading people to join their church.”

  “Over enthusiastic?” Crane leant forward over the table.

  “Yes. It seems that once you attend the church for a service, they are, shall we say, reluctant to let you go. They pile on the pressure to make you keep going. Ensnare you with invisible threads as it were. Also it’s a very evangelical type of worship.”

  “Meaning?” Crane was more than a little perplexed by the description.

  “Well, the congregation are encouraged to, ah, let themselves go. You know, fully join in, shout out when the need takes them and,” continued the Chaplain dropping his voice to a whisper, although there was no one else in the room, “I’ve heard reports of members of the congregation speaking in tongues.”

  Not liking what he was hearing, Crane wanted to know if members of the Church of Jesus is King were actively recruiting on the garrison.

  “Not as far as I’m aware, but I couldn’t say for certain.”

  Crane stood and paced the room for a moment, before turning back to address Symonds. “Thank you for your frankness, Padre, but I need to know if this church is active on the garrison. If our soldiers have been attending and getting ensnared by invisible threads, as you put it. Also, more specifically, if Lance Corporal Crooks was a regular attendee.”

  “But, Crane, I can’t just go along and start accusing them of what I deem to be inappropriate religious behaviour!” The Chaplain looked at Crane as though he had just suggested that God was the devil in disguise.

  Crane remained standing but placed his arms on the desk, closing the space between himself and the Padre. “Of course not, sir. But you could go and meet with the leader of the Church, as a result of the tragic events here on the garrison. Ask for any help and information on the Lance Corporal that he may
be able to give. You know the drill, I’m sure. All in the spirit and love of Jesus and mutual co-operation in the community. That sort of thing.” Crane tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  A gleam appeared in the Padre’s eyes and he smiled. “Of course, I see now. Very clever, Sergeant Major.”

  Sitting back down, Crane said, “Not really, sir, just standard investigative procedure. But much better coming from you, don’t you think? And of course I’m sure the Colonel will look favourably on your co-operation.”

  Hesitantly, the Chaplain finally nodded his agreement. “I’ll see what I can find out for you by tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, sir,” a relieved Crane replied.

  Chapter Five

  That night at home, Crane was preoccupied. It was troubling him deeply that something as awful as the murders had happened on his garrison. He was aware things like this happen in ‘Civvy Street’, but he had always thought soldiers more disciplined. Fair enough, most of them flare up at one point or another, Crane had to admit it was almost a given. But to go as far as murdering your family? He was having a hard time getting the whole business out of his head.

  Unfortunately, Tina hadn’t picked up on his mood. “Tom...” she began over dinner at their large farmhouse table in the kitchen, which was far too big for just the two of them.

  “Yes, love?” he replied, looking up from his plate. The sight of her made him smile. She had changed from the business suit she wore for work at the bank into what he called a track suit and his wife called a leisure suit. Her long dark straight hair was loose, framing her face and most of her makeup had worn off. That was how he liked her best. Natural and relaxed, her arched eyebrows giving her a slightly quizzical look. Her eyes were searching his, as if trying to decide whether to speak or not.